He’s besotted about her. You noticed that?” “It is not unnatural under the circumstances,” said Poirot primly.
“I can tell you someone who doesn’t like her, and that’s our Mary.” “And she perhaps does not like Mary Restarick either.” “So that’s what you think, is it?” said David. “That Sonia doesn’t like Mary Restarick. Perhaps you go as far as thinking that she may have made a few enquiries as to where the weed killer was kept?
Bah,” he added, “the whole thing’s ridiculous.
All right. Thanks for the lift. I think I’ll get out here.” “Aha. This is where you want to be?
We are still a good seven miles out of London.” “I’ll get out here. Good-bye, M.
Poirot.” “Goodbye.” Poirot leant back in his seat as David slammed the door.
II Mrs. Oliver prowled round her sittingroom.
She was very restless. An hour ago she had parcelled up a typescript that she had just finished correcting. She was about to send it off to her publisher who was anxiously awaiting it and constantly prodding her about it every three or four days.
“There you are,” said Mrs. Oliver, addressing the empty air and conjuring up an imaginary publisher. “There you are, and I hope you like it! / don’t. I think it’s lousy! I don’t believe you know whether anything I write is good or bad. Anyway, I warned you. I told you it was frightful.
You said “Oh! no, no, I don’t believe that for a moment.” “You just wait and see,” said Mrs.
Oliver vengefully. “You just wait and see.” She opened the door, called to Edith, her maid, gave her the parcel and directed that it should be taken to the post at once.
“And now,” said Mrs. Oliver, “what am I going to do with myself?” She began strolling about again. “Yes,” thought Mrs. Oliver, “I wish I had those tropical birds and things back on the wall instead of these idiotic cherries. I used to feel like something in a tropical wood. A lion or a tiger or a leopard or a cheetah!
What could I possibly feel like in a cherry orchard except a bird scarer?” She looked round again. “Cheeping like a bird, that’s what I ought to be doing,” she said gloomily. “Eating cherries… I wish it was the right time of year for cherries. I’d like some cherries. I wonder now — ” She went to the telephone. “I will ascertain. Madam,” said the voice of George in answer to her enquiry. Presently another voice spoke.
“Hercule Poirot, at your service, Madame,” he said.
“Where’ve you been?” said Mrs. Oliver.
“You’ve been away all day. I suppose you went down to look up the Restaricks. Is that it? Did you see Sir Roderick? What did you find out?” “Nothing,” said Hercule Poirot.
“How dreadfully dull,” said Mrs. Oliver.
“No, I do not think it is really so dull.
It is rather astonishing that I have not found out anything.” “Why is it so astonishing? I don’t understand.” “Because,” said Poirot, “it means either there was nothing to find out, and that, let me tell you, does not accord with the facts, or else something was being very cleverly concealed. That, you see, would be interesting. Mrs. Restarick, by the way, did not know the girl was missing.” “You mean — she has nothing to do with the girl having disappeared?” “So it seems. I met there the young man.” “You mean the unsatisfactory young man that nobody likes?” “That is right. The unsatisfactory young man.” “Did you think he was unsatisfactory?” “From whose point of view?” “Not from the girl’s point of view, I suppose.” “The girl who came to see me I am sure would have been highly delighted with him.” “Did he look very awful?” “He looked very beautiful,” said Hercule Poirot.
“Beautiful?” said Mrs. Oliver. “I don’t know that I like beautiful young men.” “Girls do,” said Poirot.
“Yes, you’re quite right. They like beautiful young men. I don’t mean goodlooking young men or smart-looking young men or well dressed or well washed looking young men. I mean they either like young men looking as though they were just going on in a Restoration comedy, or else very dirty young men looking as though they were just going to take some awful tramp’s job.” “It seemed that he also did not know where the girl is now — ” “Or else he wasn’t admitting it.” “Perhaps. He had gone down there.